


and i'm all out of breath

by ace_bookdragon



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Angst, Halt and Crowley could be seen as gay in this but you decide if they're friends or romantic partners, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, halt's water trauma resurfaces (ha), title inspired by Sinking Man by Of Monsters And Men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29743812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ace_bookdragon/pseuds/ace_bookdragon
Summary: When Halt and Crowley go to take care of some bandits, something happens and Halt must face his past.
Relationships: Crowley Meratyn & Halt O'Carrick, Ferris O'Carrick & Halt O'Carrick
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	and i'm all out of breath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [and_crowley_lives1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/and_crowley_lives1/gifts).



> Some angst for a fellow angst gremlin

In a small cabin down the hill from a tall red castle, two men sit talking. One is small, with salt-and-pepper hair and a frown that will only lift for certain people. The other is a bit taller, with hair that matches the fire of the setting sun and hazel eyes. Both wear mottled green and gray cloaks and carry a double-knife scabbard at one hip. 

“You know, Halt,” the redhead says, taking a sip from a large mug filled with coffee, “you ought to check up on that village on the coast. Selsey, I think it’s called.”

“Selsey?” Halt’s eyebrow shoots up in surprise. “I don’t think that’s technically under Araluen jurisdiction, Crowley.” 

“Still. It’s very close, and it might do to make sure that no one’s making trouble over there. I don’t want something nasty getting into Araluen from there. Farrel used to go look at it every few years or so, and it might be good for you to start doing the same.”

Halt makes a small shrugging gesture. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll head over there tomorrow.”

Crowley smiles. “Thanks, Halt.”

The messenger knocks on the door just as Halt is raising his coffee mug to his lips. He glances up at Crowley, who goes and opens the door.

The messenger’s breath comes in bursts and he holds his side from the stitch that formed as he ran from the castle down to the Ranger cabin. He has a moment of confusion at seeing Crowley. The Ranger Commandant isn’t a normal sight around Redmont. Then he sees the silver oakleaf pendant at Crowley’s throat and recognizes him as a Ranger.

“Sir, there’s been another bandit attack on a trade boat,” he says. “Near here, where the river curves back into the forest.” 

Halt emerges at the door behind Crowley. “Another trade boat attack?” he asks and the messenger nods. 

Halt sighs. “Thanks for telling me,” he says. “I’ll go take care of it.”

“Thank you, sir,” the messenger replies, and turns to head back through the trees to the castle.

Halt goes back into the cabin and starts hunting around for his camping gear and dried food supplies. Crowley follows behind him as he moves from place to place packing things away.

“Trade boat attack?” he asks as Halt grabs his longbow and quiver from where they stand by the door.

“They’ve been happening constantly around here,” his friend replies. “This is the third one in a week. Damn nuisances!”

“Ah.”

They go out to the small pasture next to the cabin, where Halt’s horse Abelard grazes peacefully. There’s another horse there too, Crowley’s chestnut horse Cropper. He stands tethered at the fence where Crowley left him when he arrived earlier.

At a word from Halt, Abelard trots over and stands quietly while Halt quickly grooms him and then puts his tack on. Halt is about to swing up into the saddle when Crowley suddenly says “Don’t you think I should come with you?”

Halt pauses for a moment. “Come with me?”

“Yes. Perhaps two of us will be able to do more with these bandits, and just in case something happens….”

Halt smiles a bit over _just in case something happens_. “So you’re worried for me?” he teases gently. But then, becoming more serious, he adds “you know the saying. _One riot, one Ranger_. One of us should be enough.”

“You said these kinds of attacks have been happening constantly! I should come too. Cropper’s all ready to go anyway.” Crowley gestures at his horse.

“Fine.” Halt swings up into Abelard’s saddle and starts heading off through the forest to the back of the cabin. A few moments later he hears hoofbeats and Crowley comes up next to him. 

They urge their horses into a canter and disappear into the trees.

It doesn’t take long for them to find the remnants of the attacked trading boat. Bits of bloodied cloth cling to some of the rocks where the river narrows and quickens, and, a bit beyond the cloth, a flat-bottomed boat with a smashed stern has been pulled up to be hidden in the reeds.

“Oh no,” Crowley murmurs. 

Halt dismounts to inspect the boat. His cloak seems to meld with the shadows as he moves, and even for Crowley, trained to use his own cloak in a similar manner, finds it hard to see him.

“The bandits must have attacked back there, where the river gets faster, and killed or taken the merchants captive. Then they brought the boat here, took everything in it, and left. Someone probably escaped and got a message to Redmont to alert us.”  
“Yes,” Crowley replies. He surveys the scene sadly for a moment.

“Good skills, Ranger.”

It’s said quietly, in a raspy whisper. Not Crowley’s voice. Someone else’s. Halt’s head whips around at that. His heart skips a beat.

A tall figure is stepping away from the trees close to the riverbank. If Halt squints he can see five more behind the first, clad in all black. Behind him, he hears Crowley suck a quick breath in.

The bandits?

“That’s exactly what happened,” the voice continues, at a normal volume. “And it’ll happen to you too if you don’t stop snooping.”

Now, as the figures come out into the sunlight, Halt can see the gleam of metal weapons held at the ready. 

It’s the bandits.

“King’s Ranger!” he calls, shrugging his bow from his shoulder. “Drop your weapons.” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Crowley drawing his bow as well.

The bandits are either very confident or very stupid, because despite the order they charge down the hill at the two men. No one in their right mind disobeys an order from a Ranger.

Halt sighs, nocks a black-fletched arrow, and shoots.

The arrow takes the bandit Halt presumes is the leader in the calf. The bandit drops to the ground, moaning in pain. He snaps off three more shots and more bandits go down with arrows sticking out from their arms and legs. Aiming to wound, he’s found, is sometimes better than aiming to kill.

He hears Crowley shoot, his arrows hit their marks. For a moment it looks like all the bandits have been hit and reduced to moaning on the ground. But then more begin emerging from the trees, and Halt realizes that something is off. Something has gone wrong. 

And suddenly, Crowley and Halt are far more outnumbered than they were. 

The bandits surge forward. Crowley can’t count them, but his fingers fly as he nocks arrows and fires over and over. He sees the blur of Halt’s arrows as his friend does the same. 

The bandits suddenly turn toward Halt and focus their efforts on him, leaving only a few to attack Crowley. Maybe Halt looks like a slightly weaker target because he’s not on his horse’s back. Crowley shoots the bandits coming toward him and then focuses his fire on the ones attacking Halt.

Halt has drawn his two knives and is slashing and cutting and hacking at his assailants. One gets too close and Halt takes a step back to get more room between them. His foot slips on the muddy riverbank and before he can regain his balance, he’s falling backward into the water.

“ _Halt!_ ” Crowley yells.

The water is freezing. He reaches for a foothold on the bottom, but the recent winter has made the water level swell and it’s too deep for him to touch. He feels the water rise and fall around him and then there’s a hand on him, forcing his head deep into the water. He thrashes and tries to come up for air, swallows only water. 

Something hard hits the back of his head, forces him even further under, and he’s suddenly a sixteen-year-old boy again, in a river in Clonmel, where he’d grown up, and his brother Ferris is hitting him with a boat paddle, trying to kill him so he can take the throne of Clonmel. Halt is drowning: and everything is cold and noise and pulsing pain and it scares him. He doesn’t want to die a teenager and no! He’s not a teenager he’s the legendary Ranger Halt of Araluen and Ferris tried to kill him twenty years ago and that is in the past but why won’t the past stay where it belongs? 

Halt thrashes his body frantically, tries to shake off the fear, the water and the hands that try to keep him down. Tries to get a gulp of new air into his lungs. Tries to keep that terrifying piece of his childhood in the past.

Suddenly, the pressure lifts and he’s able to feebly kick upwards and break to the surface. Cold air hits his face, but it’s welcome and he takes in deep breaths of it as he tries to make out his surroundings, force everything to fall into proper order around him. 

There are the trees, the sloping hill that leads to the riverbank, the small trail alongside it. He spots two horses, one gray and one reddish-orange. And the black-clad bodies of the attackers. He can tell that most are still alive, tied together while their weapons lie in a heap by the trees.

“Halt!” There’s a cry, and a hand reaches down from the riverbank. Halt reaches his arm up and lets Crowley haul him out of the river. Halt’s clothes are sodden and heavy. He crouches on the bank, shaking and sucking in air. He feels like he can’t breathe, like he’s still under the water and trying to get to the surface but can’t quite make it. It’s so hard to pull his usual tough, ready-for-anything veil into place.

“Halt?” It’s Crowley again, crouching next to him. He looks like he’s not sure if he should touch Halt in some way or if it would be best to stay away. “You’re shaking. Are you okay? Did someone cut you?”

“I’m fine!” Halt bites out. It’s a lie. Everything feels wrong. So wrong. Something clings to him like the water, a sense that he’s still in the past and still in the cold dark water as it threatens to pull him under. It’s cold, so cold.

He tries to sit up straighter, to pretend he’s fine like he says he is. It’s a good try, and it almost works.

“Are you sure?” Crowley squints a little, examines his friend. He gets his spare cloak from Cropper’s saddlebag and wraps it around Halt, noting that Halt’s fingers dig into the cloth a bit more than they should as he holds it around himself.

“Yes.”

“I’m going to go get the Watch to take care of these.” Crowley gestures to the bandits. “You stay here and watch them for me.”

“Alright.”

While Crowley is gone, Halt does his best to keep an eye on the bandits. He does his best to shake off the feeling of the water in his throat, surging around his chest. The cold ebbs a bit, which he’s thankful for. By the time Crowley returns, he’s almost mastered the shaking. 

But Crowley takes one look at him as they swing up into their horse’s saddles after making sure the Watch has the bandits under control, and notes the small tremors Halt can’t quite control yet. The way he grips Abelard’s reins much too tightly, the lighter shape of his knuckles showing through his dark skin. 

“Halt, I don’t think you’re fine.” Crowley nudges his horse closer to Halt’s and gently takes Abelard’s reins, bringing the little horse to a halt.

Halt glares at him from beneath the cowl of Crowley’s cloak. It’s much too big for him, and some of the fabric flops over his dark eyes. 

Crowley resolutely glares back.

Finally, Halt sighs. “Alright. I’m not fine.”

“Did something happen?” Crowley asks him gently. Halt looks around at the forest surrounding them and hesitates. 

“Can we talk when we get back?” he asks. A bout of shivering hits him, and he adds, “I... I’d rather not be out here.”

Crowley nods in sympathy. 

Crowley releases Abelard’s rein and they continue along the path through the towering trees. Halt hunches over in the saddle and forces his grip on the reins to loosen, to let Abelard pick his way along behind Cropper.

 _It will be okay,_ Halt repeats to himself. _It will be okay._

The pervasive chill comes back, bites deep into his bones and stays there as they reach the cabin and Crowley shoos him inside and makes a roaring fire before going to tend to the horses. It looks like Crowley will stay the night instead of heading back to Araluen Fief as he’d planned. 

Crowley brings Halt a hot mug of coffee and settles down next to him in front of the fire. He slips an arm around Halt’s waist and hugs the other man to his side while they stare into the red flames. After a while, Halt finally asks, “what happened back there?”

“After you fell in?”

A nod.

“I took down most of the ones who were attacking you before I ran out of arrows, but one managed to get into the river and was holding your head in. I was able to dismount and hit him with the pommel of my saxe knife from the bank before he could finish his attempt to drown you.” Crowley glances over and notes the quick flare of fear on Halt’s features at the mention of drowning before he composes his face.

“So that’s what happened…” Halt murmurs, his voice almost lost in the crackling of the fire. 

“Did something happen to you while you were in the water?” Crowley asks gently. “You seem pretty shaken even now.”

“I…” Halt pauses, debating whether he should go on. But then he gathers his resolve. “Yeah, something did. But it goes back a long time, from before we met. So I guess I should start from the beginning. 

“I was born and raised in Clonmel, in Hibernia. My brother Ferris is the current king of Clonmel.” Halt waits for Crowley to make a noise of surprise at finding that he is part of the royal line, but there, surprisingly, is none. “We’re twins, born seven minutes apart. But I’m the firstborn, and for some reason those seven minutes made Ferris feel cheated out of what he thought was his birthright.”

Halt goes on to explain how his parents lavished Ferris with their affection. They seemed to think that he needed some sort of compensation for not being the heir to the throne. As the years went by, Ferris had become angrier and angrier over not being the one to inherit the kingdom and its responsibilities. It was the kind of quiet, poisonous anger he did not allow anyone but Halt to see. By the time he was sixteen, Halt had faced several murder attempts, all orchestrated by his brother.

But the final attempt came when they were sixteen. Halt and Ferris had been on a boating trip when Halt had leaned over to untangle a fishing line and Ferris had shoved him overboard. Halt remembers the water, cold and dark and deep. He was trying to get to the surface, back into the boat, when Ferris had lashed out with his paddle. At first, Halt thought Ferris was trying to help him get back in, but when the wooden paddle cracked down hard over his back and shoulder, he realized that this wasn’t the case.

Halt went under again, as pain burst from his shoulder and he kicked weakly for the surface. The cold of the water stole the breath from his lungs, made his muscles feel tight as he saw the paddle cut down again at his head. 

“I knew I couldn’t stay in Clonmel any longer,” Halt says quietly. He rubs his right shoulder, the pain seeming to twinge there again years later. “So I went. It was almost impossible for me to make it to the shore, but I somehow managed it.” His voice shakes a little, and Crowley takes his hand, rubs small circles around the spot where his thumb and hand meet.

“Halt… I’m…” Crowley trails off, not sure what to say. A _sorry_ doesn’t seem quite adequate or right. He stays silent for a few moments longer, then says, “so that’s why you were… that was terrible.”

Halt takes a quick sip of coffee, and Crowley can hear his breathing rattle a little. “Yes. That’s why. And I hate that it comes back at me sometimes. I hate it so much. I don’t want to go back to Clonmel, I don’t want the memories of that place to have a hold over me anymore. But they do. And I can’t stop them, can only remember and be afraid and remembering takes from me more every time it happens. I’m happy here in Araluen, I have you and Will and Gilan and Pauline. I want to live here without worrying about who I was and what happened to me as a kid. But there’s nothing I can seem to do.” Halt’s voice is bitter now, so bitter. “Will still feels the effects of the warmweed addiction he had in Skandia and I want to help him, but I can’t because I don’t know how to get over this.”

“I don’t think it’s something you can just ‘get over,’” Crowley replies softly. “I think it’s something that takes time and you have to sort through it all until it doesn’t scare you anymore.” 

“Yeah…” Halt looks at him, a little doubtfully. “I just… I don’t know when that will be and it should be easy to make the water not scare me, but it still does. And I want to help Will because he is my son, and I need to be there for him.”

Crowley smiles a bit at _because he is my son_. Halt really does think of his old apprentice as a son, and admits to it. 

“I think you should worry a little less about Will,” he says quietly. “He’ll take care of himself, but if you want to help him with his own issues you should put yourself first and try to move past this so that it won’t keep causing problems for you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I do.”

Halt moves himself a bit closer to Crowley, so their bodies are pressed together from shoulder to knee. Crowley’s right arm is still around Halt’s back, holding him close, like he won’t let go. Halt looks up at him, dark eyes lit a warm, flickering brown by the firelight. The fire throws shifting shadows into the corners of the room, makes everything soft and gold and peaceful. 

Crowley leans down and rests his head on top of Halt’s. 

“You’re here now,” he whispers.

 _Yes_ , Halt thinks, as the persistent chill finally starts to leave his bones, _I am._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it :)


End file.
